Happy Ship: The Diary of USS Iowa
by Just Another Indonesian Writer
Summary: "... from all I have seen and all I have heard, the Iowa is a 'happy ship,' and having served with the Navy for many years, I know—and you know—what that means." Franklin Delano Roosevelt once stated that. But is it true? Follow USS Iowa, one of the few Warship Sons of the US Navy as the Battleship searches for the true meaning of 'Happy Ship'. [Alternate Universe and History]
1. The Interview

"_Alright, and, three... two... one, action._"

The lights on the stage sparks into life on cue, lighting the simple setting of the retired United States Naval Officer, John L. McCrea's household. The senior officer of the Navy sits peacefully on his couch, with his full military attire on, and the numerous decorations and medals pinned onto his service uniform. A small mic is attached to the collar of his khaki-colored uniform and a host is seen entering into the camera's view.

"There are countless soldiers, heroes, from the War against the Abyssals, but only a few lived, to tell the tale," The host's heavily accented British English's voice rings throughout the room, and is captured by his own mic. "Today, we have gotten ourselves the honor, to interview one of most the well known, and one of the most decorated Navy officers of the United States Armed Forces. A retired Vice Admiral, now an accounting manager for the John Hancock Life Insurance Company of Boston, John L. McCrea."

As soon as he states the identity, the camera pans to the former Sailor, and the host approaches the much older man, offering him a handshake. The two exchange wordless greetings, before the host sets himself down on the chair right across the officer.

"It is, truly an honor to have you here with us, Sir," The interviewer begins with courtesy, bending his head downwards for emphasis on his respect.

McCrea responded with a nod back, and a grunt of acknowledgment.

"We have heard stories about... your service back when you're still in the Navy, Sir, but we are here today to ask you about one of the most well-known, if not, the most well-known Battleship class that you've handled once," The British says, making hand gestures. "Now, the media has said, that this certain Battleship class were filled with nothing but traitors, Abyssal spies, and all that, especially the lead ship. What are your thoughts on that, Sir?"

The former Officer makes a slight scowl, his wrinkled fingers could be seen gripping the sides of his seat.

A shake of his head, in exasperation, later, McCrea cleared his throat. "Well, I have nothing else to say, other than those claims are false," He gingerly stands up from his seat, his old bones are keeping him from moving fast, but he managed to do so alone without any assistance. "The public can say anything about them, but these Battleships, the Iowa-class Battleships were, and still, are not defectors," He speaks in clarification, whilst walking to a nearby fireplace.

Many photos, most of them still black and white, some of them toned in sepia, while a few others are already fully-colored stand wordlessly within their casings, the memories of the Abyssal Conflict, reflected, recorded within them. Among many others, McCrea stops behind a group photo, a sepia photograph of him, and a happily-smiling group of younger men and women, excluding a single man, in his adolescent years, who is staring dully directly towards the lens of the camera, with no smile, nor other expression on his flat, and deadpanned face. McCrea's hand is seen placed firmly on this emotionless man's shoulder, and the former Vice Admiral could be seen, smiling along with the rest of the group of ships.

"These are the Battleships you're speaking of?" The interviewer asks, and a nod is received. "May I?" He hesitantly hovers his right hand over the photo, requesting for permission from the senior Officer-turned-citizen.

McCrea gives another grunt, giving a positive response to the question. "Hard to believe it's been like... what, forty years since the end of the war," He mutters in reminiscent, but one can also hear the disappointment within his voice. "And people still think that they're our country's traitor..." He finishes with a wary sigh.

The host's eyebrows rise in curiosity. "So... these are, the Iowa-class Battleships..." He, himself, whispers to his mic, slightly astonished. "These are the last Battleships ever to enter service within the world of the fighting Navy, not only in the United States, but also in the entire world," The British speaks informatively into the camera, making sure that it is screened towards him. "Now, would you kindly point out who's who, Sir?"

McCrea's eyes lights up, as he trails a finger across the old photo, trying to recognize each member of the Iowa-class.

"Now, there were only four ships when we took the photo, because the last two ships never really entered service," The man tells his interviewer, which, in turn, hums acknowledgingly. "Now, this girl right here," He points at a one of the smaller members within the group, particularly to a young woman with the US Navy uniform smiling shyly at the camera, her smile modest, and her hands clasped at her skirt, giving her a reserved aura. "This one's USS Wisconsin, the youngest of the class to enter the conflict. Wisky's A really good girl, I'll tell you that. Polite, soft-speaking, and gets easily flustered. She only needs to have a work on her social senses."

His hand then moves to point on the taller girl beside her, she was the third tallest within the group, with McCrea being the second tallest, and another male being the tallest of the group. Judging by the light shade of her hair, this one was blonde, a stark contrast to Wisconsin's dark-colored hair. But like the shorter girl, she was also seen wearing the same kind of uniform like Wisconsin's. She was grinning widely from ear to ear, and her hands were fisted, and pointing upwards.

"Next one on the group is probably, and ironically, the most well-known of her own class, even more well-known than the lead ship, USS Missouri, thanks to that recently-launched movie... what was it called? _Battleship_, was it?" The Navyman continues. "Oh, the Big Mo right here was really a piece of work. Active, sometimes, brash and even violent, at times, but still polite."

Next up, was a big man, the biggest, and the most tallest of them all, standing right in the middle of the group. Like Missouri, he was also grinning, or even, smirking, his right hand's fingers making a peace sign to the camera. He wore a slightly darker version of the United States Navy Service Uniform, darker than Wisconsin and Missouri's shades, one could presume that it's dark-green or khaki.

"Now this big fella right here is USS New Jersey," McCrea muses up simply. "He's one of the biggest guys I've ever met in my entire life, and he's pretty similar to Missouri in many ways. Cheerful, sometimes nearing to the point of being 'happy-go-lucky', even, and most of all, _loud_," He jabs an index finger to the photograph for emphasis. "He's easily the most vocal ship of the class, but that doesn't mean he's not friendly. He's still kind at heart."

Finally, McCrea's finger stops when it makes contact with the unsmiling member of the group. The shortest of the group. It was a male, with also a dark hair, cut short, but still slightly unruly, with bangs over his forehead, near the sides and center, all swept to the left. He was wearing the same uniform like New Jersey. But unlike all of the younger ships, who at least made gestures with their hands on the photo, this one small-sized young man (ironic, for a Battleship), kept a steady, and ready posture. In fact, he was standing at an attention.

"And finally..." The old citizen pauses, with a smile crossing his lips. "This one, the lead ship of his class, and the personally favored ship of the government board, by the POTUS, and the Second Lady, USS Iowa," He says with a calm voice. "A guy that has no emotion, yet at the same time, all of the emotions. And, unfortunately... your so-called-traitor."

The interviewer hums thoughtfully at the somber part of the older man's statement, he gives a quick inspection of the oldest of the siblings, before turning back back to McCrea.

"I see," He briefly answers. "But, you said that he's not a traitor, despite his status, as an Abyss-"

McCrea quickly holds up a hand, silencing the British mid-sentence. "Boy, I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you," He shoots his a frown. "Besides, he didn't enter the war as one, and later, came back to the mainland anyway."

The interviewer is left surprised at the sudden bluntness of the senior officer. "So... I trust that... you have your experience to back up such statement, then, Sir? I mean, you were his Captain, and his handler, for quite some time, correct?"

McCrea lets a challenging grin to cross his face. "Oh I do," He answers in a simple, even tone. "Just keep that camera of yours powered, though, cause this story will be a long one," He places the photo back to its original position, to retrieve a book from his bookshelf. "Now, my... I mean, their... or more like, his experience, was compiled to this one book, I'm sure this one would give you way more information than just a simple man."

He shows the host, and then the camera, a thick, book, with an also thick, blue cover. On the cover, is an image, an image of an oval, rounded insignia. On the pasted emblem, is a flying eagle, over a Battleship that's hovering above a body of water. On the outer outline, there are texts on the top and the bottom of the insignia, that say '**USS IOWA**' and '**BB-61**' on the top and bottom corner respectively, all of them written in capital letters. And the sides of the emblem, is decorated with sentences like '**OUR LIBERTIES WE PRIZE**', and '**OUR FIGHTS WE WILL MAINTAIN**', also written in capitals.

The cover of the book says:

* * *

**Happy Ship**

**A Diary of USS Iowa**

* * *

**A Kantai Collection work of fiction**

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Hello there, everyone, welcome, greetings, and salutations, I am a mere, simple, Asian author that's trying to write a story.

Now, as some of you that have noticed, this story was already going for a while, but I just decided to write a prologue chapter for this one story. It just feels... unjustified, when I immediately start at the ship's awakening. It needs more... build up. And hence, this prologue chapter pops up. And for those of you that just came to give this story a try, I welcome you to my work of fiction, hope you will enjoy what I'm writing here.

Now, for those of you who are new to the story, this is a story of USS Iowa, a Warship Son of the United States Navy. Yes, I made Iowa a male for this story. I also made this story to not be perfectly historically accurate. There _WILL_ be some technologies and such that didn't exist when the World War II happened. I'm making this story's timeline to be concurrent with our real life, modern timeline. So, yes, this story is set on a jumbled, and mixed timeline. You will see both elements from both the past and the present. This story will also of course, feature several inaccurate representation of historical figures, starting from Captain John McCrea right here, to even lady Ilo Wallace and her husband, and the POTUS himself, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, as this story is not made to be an ultra, super serious story. So, just a point out, and also hoping that none of you would be offended with this story, especially those who are really strict when it comes to history.

The story will still have its serious moments, though, so don't worry, as this will follow all of Iowa's experience in World War II.

And some other of you might've noticed the slightly change of my writing. After some absence of being contracted with Hepatitis A, I finally came back to writing. And wow, does it feel weird to get back on the keyboard. So, if my writing feels weird, just bear with me. Well, enough of that. I hope you guys enjoyed the prologue and the first two chapters I've posted earlier before this one chapter. Thanks for reading.

Traesto.


	2. Waking Up

All of the world felt cold. All of the world felt dark. All of the world felt hostile. All of the world felt... _strange_. _Life_, is _strange. _

"Aww, isn't he a cute ship?" A voice coo'ed, it was feminine. "Henry, look! Isn't he an adorable one?"

"That's probably because his body is five-foot-four, Ilo," Another deadpanned, this time, male. "Look, he's waking up. Remember, no sudden movements. The spirit must still be unstable."

A soft huff was heard afterwards from the voice that belonged to Ilo. "But, surely, the boys of the Navy Yard must've already done that part, right?"

"Just precautions, Ilo... just precautions..." The one identified as Henry replied with a defusing, nearly uninterested tone. "Look, I'll be getting the First Lady to inform her that the project's a success, alright?"

"Sure, sure!" Ilo, already not paying attention to Henry answered him dismissively, which earned her a groan from the latter, before some soft footsteps were heard, and faded out soon after. "Now, wake up, little one..."

It was then he stirred awake, his eyelids trembled as they forced themselves to open up. With his vision swimming and disorienting him to no end, a small groan escaped from his lips. He heard voices of some sort, along with some other noises of some bulb, the quiet, maybe too eerily quiet ambient, continued to dominate the atmosphere of the room for a few moments. Even Ilo was quiet as his head muscles turned left and right, trying to register his surroundings into a solid picture. Blobs turning into figures, hazes turning into colors, and drowsiness turning into consciousness, he could feel a new sense of composure entering his body, giving his limbs and organs energy.

It was also his emerald eyes fell upon a grown lady, beside him, a sincere smile radiating from ear to ear, and the exhilarated expression coloring her face, showing no bars to hold her excitement and happiness. The lady was gripping on his left hand, hard. But not painfully so. The grip was strong, yet at the same time, warm, and somehow, making him to feel content at the situation. But at the same time, he was confused. He didn't know where he was. Or who she was.

And so, he tried to speak.

Only to stop when the lady placed her index finger upon his lips, completely stopping any form of voice that was just about to be spoken.

"Shh," She silenced, the smile still remaining on her lips as she shushed him. "I trust you had a good sleep?"

He stared back at her, saying nothing to respond to her question.

"I'll take that as a yes, then," The woman chuckled wisely, also letting her finger to detach from his lips. "You must have some questions, but let's not forget that your body is still tired and exhausted. The experiment must've taken its toll both on your spirit and your new physical body. For now, just let me do all the talking, alright?"

Once again, he didn't respond to her. Emerald eyes kept training on her own pool of hazel irises.

The lady placed her free hand to her chest, "I am Ilo Browne Wallace, the Second Lady of the United States of America. You are currently at the New York Naval Yard, Brooklyn," Ilo then scratched her head whilst another chuckle erupted from her throat, out of the rising awkwardness of the atmosphere. "Sorry for the dark room and the bed... rest assured, this is not some kind of interrogation or anything. You're home safe. So don't worry. Oh, and the date is twenty-seventh of June, in case you're wondering."

As if trying to confirm it, his eyes scanned around the room for any calendars, only to found none. Ilo was about to continue when a few set of footsteps began to approach the room, signaling them that a few other individuals were coming in. Ilo's eyes lit up in excitement, as she finally let her strong grip go from his hand. She stood up from the seat beside his bed and checked on her clothes, making sure that she was straightened up and ready for the upcoming guests.

"That must be my husband!" She whispered to him, a gleeful and cheerful look barely contained on her happy face. "He's also bringing in the First Lady with him!"

There was a pair of soft knocks on the door, before the handle visibly tilted downwards. The metal hinges creaked the same time the oak door swung open to the inside, revealing other humanoid figures entering the building. A woman, with a set of clothes that clearly shows the signs of political power, accompanied with another well-suited man behind her. The two were followed by other, men in similar uniforms. All of them looking discreet and menacing.

The other lady, not Ilo, upon seeing him, gasped in surprise. "So, Henry, is this... is this him?"

"Yes, Madam Roosevelt... this is him," The man without the uniform, Henry answered, his voice curt and full of respect. "As you can see, he's still partly-"

Madam Roosevelt nearly squealed in glee as she lunged over to the unfortunate male, gripping his hand tight in a similar manner to Ilo's, but much, much, tighter. _Too tight._

"Oh my God!" She screamed, drawing stares from the men and Ilo herself. "He looks _soooo_ adorable!"

Ilo smirked sagely as she gave Henry the best smug expression she could do. "I know, right?!"

Henry facepalmed, muttering something between the lines of _"Telling Jimmy to not design him to look like an under-aged student." _And also something about _"Firing the certain supervisor who actually approved of that idea." _And finally something about_ "Women's tastes for kids these days."_

Madam Roosevelt, noticing that she's indeed pressuring the hand of his a tad bit too hard, quickly yelped as she let it go. "O-oh, I'm sorry! Did that hurt?!" She inquired quickly, checking for any visible sore muscles on his palm. Finding none, she sighed in relieve. "Phew, no injuries or what not... that's good..." She quickly recomposed herself to introduce her name. "How are you doing? I'm Eleanor Roosevelt, the First Lady of the United States. It's really nice to see you finally waking up after a few days."

Staring back at Eleanor, he said nothing.

"Aww, you must still be tired. That's okay, though. We'll let you have some rest, then," Eleanor smiled at him. "Oh, and welcome back to our world... dear Warship Son," Her smile, along with Ilo's turned even wider as she spoke the next words, "_USS Iowa_."

Iowa, feeling that he must at least say something back to return the formal greetings of the First Lady, forced his throat to produce anything coherent.

_"Thank you... meatbag."_

The whole room's occupants' eyes went wide, and Henry immediately threw his arms into the air in exasperation and anger. Mostly anger, as he screamed:

_"Alright! Who the hell thinks that it's a good idea to play Star Wars while shaping up this guy?! I want him in **right here**, **right now!**"_

* * *

**Happy Ship, The Diary of USS Iowa**

**A Kantai Collection Work of Fiction**

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Hello, readers, and welcome to my small project, most likely filled with nonsensical one-shots, entitled Happy Ship.

First things first, I apologize for not writing nor updating anything for the last couple of weeks, especially on my other work, _I'm Going Mad_. I am currently contracted with Hepatitis A, and the doctors told me to have a full bed rest. Hence, no updates. I have been feeling better recently, but my body still feels tired as hell, so I've just been browsing FF and reading others' work. And then, I came across a forum at KanKore's tab, _The Shipyards_, and thought to myself: "_Hey, I think it's not a bad idea to try some RP for a change, at least until this body of mine can recover,_" and so I did. And then, after a few posts, the idea to do this project just became stronger. And yes, I have never done an RP, so the word is stressed on 'try'.

This is a story set in an alternate universe and history of the world, if the world's ships are replaced with KanMusus and KanMusukos. Now, you might want to ask, what is KanMusukos? KanMusuko is a literal translation to the term '_Warship Sons_' as opposed to KanMusu, which translates to '_Warship Daughters_' in English. This story in particular, tells us the story of the American Battleship, BB-61, or as everyone would like to say, USS Iowa. And yes, KanMusuko is a made up term by yours truly.

The idea of this story suddenly came up in my mind while I was doing RP. I'm fascinated at the real life USS Iowa, and wondered if she could be manifested into KanKore's world. And then combining the idea with the usual lighthearted humor along with some other pop-culture things, you have this. With this project, I hope that it can give a new perspective on the US Navy during World War II, along with some humor to go by in order to establish something fresh, especially with the bloody WWII timeline. I will follow the actual WWII's major events involving Iowa, and those will be made into silly one-shots like this one.

This chapter evolves around the day USS Iowa was laid down, 27th of June 1940. And as you've noticed, I'm using real people here, the ones who actually existed. Like the First and Second Lady, Eleanor Roosevelt and Ilo Wallace, along with her husband and the Vice President of the United States while D. Roosevelt's on the presidential office, Henry Wallace. If any of you guys, especially the die-hard historians are offended because I somehow altered the history and their character itself to be this somewhat bubbly, then I apologize.

Well, I suppose this is it... for now. I hope you enjoyed the story. If my body permits me, I will be posting more of these as well as the updates for my other stories as well.

Traesto.


	3. Launching Day

"Iowa?"

USS Iowa, hearing his name being called out by a familiar feminine voice that only belonged to the Second Lady of the United States, Ilo Wallace, raised his head, breaking away from his staring contest with the dull white floor of the New York Naval Yard, Brooklyn, and beside her, was her husband, and the Vice President of the United States, Henry Wallace. The woman was giving him a teasing, but warm smile of her own, while the Battleship just returned her friendly gesture by nodding back to her, before going back to stare back down at the floor.

It was then he felt an elbow to hit his side. Wincing slightly, Iowa motioned his eyes to his left, to see his younger siblings, USS _Missouri_, USS _New Jersey_, USS _Wisconsin_, and USS _Kentucky_ in order. All of them giving him a scolding look, while the one who actually registered the pain to his ribs was his younger sister, Missouri. Said ship was looking particularly dissatisfied with her brother's lack of reaction or formal response to the Second Lady.

"Manners, brother!" She reminded angrily, it was somehow strange for the Iowa siblings, as their older brother was the most monotonous out of all. Stone-faced, robotic responses, and even rigid movements, as opposed to his brothers and sisters, who are much more '_human_' compared to him. "Manners are important!"

Iowa rolled his eyes, but gave up to his sister's demands, his head rose to meet Ilo's face once more. "...Yes, meatbag? Do you require any services-"

A loud '_smack_' echoed throughout the room, sending winces and cringes all around. A pained-looking Iowa was then seen holding his head and clutching it close, while an angered Missouri was instead seen with her teeth grinding against each other, red face, and a fisted hand. The rather scarring image managed to draw several audible '_ouch_' and '_that's gotta hurt_' from the siblings, particularly heard from the male Battleships, Kentucky and New Jersey, Wisconsin, another Ship sister from the class, just sat there, shocked and her eyes opened wide at her sister's actions. Ilo and Henry could only watch as the siblings continued on with their antics with Iowa.

"Err... Missouri, sweetie, I think it's fine by me-" Ilo tried to defuse, a sweat visibly dropping from her forehead.

"And stop calling people with this '_meatbag_' thing!" Missouri yelled at her older brother, completely disregarding Ilo's attempt to calm her down. "It's rude!"

Iowa, after a moment filled with nothing but just soft, pained grunts, finally let his hand go from the point of impact. His face looking slightly irritated and his emerald eyes narrowed significantly, almost as if he's glaring at his sister. "You... you do know that is not possible, Missouri," The oldest Battleship spoke again in his everly emotionless voice. "I have been told to do this by The-Awesome-Creator-Jimmy. He said to me that I should refer homo sapiens as organic meatbags."

"And why did'ja follow his advice?" New Jersey questioned, looking confused.

"It was not an advice, Jersey. It was an order, The-Awesome-Creator-Jimmy told me that this is the most important protocol for me to follow," Iowa simply answered.

Henry Wallace could be clearly seen cracking his knuckles. "So, it was Jimmy's doing all the time, eh?" He hissed lowly, the room's temperature quickly dropping as he spoke, sending chills to his wife and the Iowa siblings, with the exception of the still deadpanned Iowa, of course. "Ilo, would you mind if I do some... disciplining session with our favorite programmer?"

The Second Lady, feeling that interfering with her husband would be a bad idea, only nodded. The vice president smiled darkly, a sadistic tinge now clearly visible on his face, the Battleships shrunk into their eldest brother, who only watched with his usual dull look as the man walked outside the room, seeking comfort from the scarring image of the usually calm and collected Henry Wallace, finally losing it to the pressure of his worker. As soon as the door clicked to a close, a thundering, mighty roar was then heard throughout the rest of the Naval Yard.

"**_JIMMY! STOP BROWSING THAT NINE-GAG AND GET YOUR SORRY ASS RIGHT OVER HERE, NOW!_**"

Iowa cringed, feeling also somewhat amused, while his siblings huddled closer to him, and with Wisconsin close to dropping her tears.

* * *

"Umm, Iowa, aren't you feeling nervous at all?" The timid voice of USS Wisconsin asked as she continued to tidy up her brother's uniform. Her soft brown eyes occasionally trained to the mirror in front of them, just making sure that her brother was on his best looks.

On the reflection, they could clearly see Iowa, in his most formal attire the Navy could afford. The Warship Son was wearing a plain, khaki uniform underneath the Navy's dark green service coat that's also covering his healthy, fair skin. A tie with the same color as his coat was also seen tied up nicely around his neck. Iowa's short, usually unkempt black hair was combed and swept backwards. His sister was just helping him fastening the belt to tighten the coat, while Iowa busied himself with the buttons of said coat.

"...Why should I feel nervous?" The Warship Son hailed back after the prolonged silence between the siblings, his tone steady and even.

Wisconsin blinked twice. "Well... today is your launch day, right?"

The eldest of the Iowa-class nodded to his own reflection. "While that is correct, I do not see the reason on why I should be feeling anxious."

The fourth ship of the class sighed, a bit sadly. "I honestly can't understand you..."

Iowa merely closed his eyes and let a small smile to cross his face, as he tugged his sleeves into a much more comfortable position. "No one can, Wisconsin..." The Battleship He moved his hand to pat his sister on the head, somewhat ironic, due to the reason that Wisconsin was an inch taller than her older brother. "Thank you for helping me."

Wisconsin's face reddened slightly, feeling embarrassed at the contact. "O-oh, Iowa, wh-what are you doing? Please s-stop this."

"I am merely doing a live training exercise on how to be a good older brother... so, please just remain on stand by for just a little bit longer," Iowa continued to rub his sister's hair slowly and carefully, not wanting to ruin her lush, long, black hair.

And then the door opened.

Iowa could see a flash heading straight for him, and a scream that sounded horrifyingly similar to Missouri's voice.

"_**STOP MOLESTING MY SISTEEEEEEEEERRRRRR!**_"

BB-61 sighed as he prepared himself for a world of pain.

* * *

"Dayum, bruh, yer lookin' good right there," New Jersey nodded in approval, complimenting his brother's new set of clothes for the ceremony.

Kentucky's eyebrow rose as he saw a big red mark on Iowa's left cheek, and a small antiseptic plaster was also present just beneath his left eye. "Egh, but what happened to your face, big bro?"

"**_Sisterhood happened,_**" Iowa deadpanned in an instant, his emerald eyes glaring daggers towards the direction of Missouri, which said girl tried to play innocent by whistling a tune and breaking her gaze from the lead ship. "Either way... this is nothing serious," He touched his cheek, only to pull his hand away in an instant as he also winced, his face contorted to the look of regret. "_That was a good right hook... she even managed to cut some of my outer dermal hull out,_" He muttered quietly.

Wisconsin stuttered and stammered her way through, her own words failing on her, resulting at the poor girl to only produce some incoherent and incomprehensible words.

"Err... okay, if you say so," Kentucky answered back, noting that something was clearly wrong with his brother. "You sure you're gonna be okay though?"

"We Battleships are built to take a lot of damage before expiring," Iowa explained, his tone once again calm, or flat, for the matter. "I am sure you understood that."

"Yeah, but not from what it looks like a direct hit from an eighteen-inch cannon, bruh," Jersey countered, also suddenly feeling urged to poke at his brother's sore spot.

But before the second ship of the class could even do it, the door opened, and Ilo walked in. Bringing the Battleships into attention.

"Alright, Iowa, are you ready for... oh," The Second Lady stopped short, seeing the large red lump on Iowa's cheek. "Should I not... ask what happened?"

"Yes, Ma'am... you probably should not," Again, Iowa threw a glare towards Missouri. "That aside, I am alright. This kind of injury is trivial to Warships like us. So, may I ask what is my current directive?"

"Ah, yes. For now, I think you should head up to the launch bays. Captain McCrea should already be there organizing for your sortie. You will also be fitted into your equipment. Oh, and I almost forgot, the Captain also told me, to tell you this. The crew at the docks haven't finished finalizing their design for you secondary turrets and your Anti-Air equipment, so you will only be equipping your main guns for today. But don't worry too much about it. It's just a voyage for a parade, so even if you're travelling light, I'm sure the crowd wouldn't mind," Ilo explained, her cheery voice already turned into a much more serious one. "After, that you should head to the main New York Harbor. The First Lady, my husband, and the citizen of New York is already waiting for you there."

Iowa nodded, understanding his objective. "Roger that, Second Meatbag, are there any more things that I would have to consider when I present myself to the First Meatbag?"

"Yes," Ilo placed her hands upon Iowa's shoulders, giving them a hard press. "And this the most important thing, so listen closely..." The Battleship's green eyes narrowed slightly, getting more intent to her commands, but alas, Ilo only smirked to his reaction. "Smile more! It will look better on you!"

Iowa's body stiffened, as if being hesitant to the sudden, unexpected order. "I... that is very unlike of me, Ma'am."

"Just... try," The Second Lady encouraged, not wanting the eldest of the Iowa siblings to be too robotic in the public's eyes. "And make me proud, you hear me?"

BB-61 stood his attention, saluting as he did so. "Yes, Ma'am," He immediately moved towards the door, making his exit towards the launch bays of the New York Naval Yard, only to stop after his body made past the doorway. He rigidly turned his neck around, to look over his shoulder. "...forgive me for asking... but where is the launch bay?"

The whole room did a collective facepalm, except for Wisconsin.

"Take a right three doors from here... go straight until you meet a crossroad, go left, and you should see the launch bay," Wisconsin replied, an uneasy smile seen on her face.

* * *

"So, you must be Battleship Iowa, am I correct? The Second Lady have spoke a bit about you."

Iowa faced a man in front of him, a man in a set of white naval uniform, complete with a peaked cap attached to his head. Said man was standing behind the Naval Yard's launch bay. A set of six glowing panels were visible on the border between the docks and the water, those six panels' surface also had visible numbers carved on them, ranging from sixty-one all the way through sixty-six. The humongous bay doors were already open, giving them a clear view of the New York city in the background.

The lead ship of his class saluted to the man in front of him. "Yes, sir. Lead ship of the Iowa-class Battleship, hull designation number sixty-one. Reporting for duty."

The man returned the salute, before his hands and shoulders relaxed to a more slouched position. "At ease, Iowa. I'm John McCrea, your handler for your first sortie, I look forward to see you in action."

Battleship Iowa was slightly impressed at the Captain before him. No need for tedious talks. "And I look forward to serve under your command, Captain McCrea."

"Then, it seems that we have similar goals in mind," McCrea gave a nod of approval to the Warship. "I trust that Madam Wallace has told you regarding your equipment?"

"Yes, sir. I am to deploy with only my main guns," Iowa replied.

The Captain gave another nod. "Right. And before we proceed with the launch, I just want to make sure," He grabbed a piece of equipment along with a small note from the nearby table. "Are you... left-handed?"

"That is correct, Captain Meatbag, I have a stronger coordination with my left hand."

McCrea shrugged. "_Oh well, it's not like we get to see a left-handed ship everyday..._" He muttered, before handing Iowa the small piece of equipment on his left hand. "And here, take this."

Iowa eyed the piece carefully with his scanning eyes, he seemed cautious, but accepted the piece anyway. "...And, what is this, if I may ask, meatbag?"

"This," The calm Captain pointed a finger at the piece of contraption. "This, is your Forward Bridge. It's still a prototype, and you're supposed to be the first one to wear this thing. It's your most important asset. Controls comms, radar, speed... yada, yada, yada, it's pretty much your five senses on the seas. Don't let anyone damage it," He warned. "Now, go ahead, put it on. It's like an earpiece, so it's supposed to fit to your right ear."

Iowa stared at his supposed bridge, his eyes glowing with alienation and hostility at the miniature device. Surely, the device looked very similar to a Battleship's island, even complete with its tower, mast, and antennae, but with all of that technology, the bridge just looked enigmatically strange for him. But, he knew that he did not have a choice anyway, and so the Battleship, slowly, carefully, placed the Forward Bridge at his right ear. A light '_click_' sounded off from the device as it secured itself to its position.

In cue, McCrea grabbed a mic near the radio, and promptly turned it on. "Testing, testing, Iowa, can you hear me?"

BB-61's eyes widened slightly, despite the noticeable interference, the Captain's voice came through from his own end. "Y-yes... I can hear you perfectly fine, meatbag."

"Good. So this thing is working after all..." A satisfied nod from the captain later, he looked to the crew of the launch bay, already preparing for the final sequence for Iowa's first launch. "Now, you should get down there, the dock hand's already waiting for you. And... yeah, good luck on your ceremony. I'll keep watch from here."

USS Iowa snapped into attention one last time to the tall American Captain. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

* * *

_"GET THE CHAINS READY!"_  
_"SHIPS AHOY, GET THEM OUT OF THE CRUISING ZONE!"_  
_"BOBBY! PAUSE THAT GAME ALREADY! THAT LEAGUE OF LEGENDS OF YOURS CAN WAIT!"_  
_"ARE THE RAINBOW BOYS HERE?! AND IS THE LINEAR CATAPULT WORKING PROPERLY?!"_

As the whole dock hands of the New York Naval Yards went into high gears, preparing for the maiden voyage of USS Iowa, the United States Battleship gingerly stepped on the small panel with his own number carved on its surface. The circle glowed slightly with a bright blue color, confirming the contact with the Battleship's boots. The panel's bottom frames opened its layers, and a few set of mechanical arms sprung upwards, with each arms carrying different metal, armored plates. Locking the Battleship's leg armor into place, the metal platings covered Iowa's feet all the way up to his knees. After finishing its job, Iowa was immediately launched by the catapults underneath his feet. The Battleship's body was directly thrown into the water, but the reaction that Iowa'd expected didn't exactly happen. Instead of drowning, he continued to hover slowly on the surface of the clear blue waters.

An alarm blared once, turning Iowa's attention to the source of the voice. As soon as he looked upwards, however, he saw his name, with all letters written in big, blocky capitals. _'IOWA - ASSAULT'_, the automated system announced. Without warning, a big, black, metal backpack was guided to the unsuspecting Warship Son via two, large metallic chains at the sides of his launch panels. The contraption slammed itself to Iowa's back, making the ship to recoil forward at the massive force that suddenly registered itself to his backbones. The backpack's frames immediately opened themselves up, with two big binders, which were also equipped with another set of two, smaller boxes, making their way out, and extending themselves to each sides of his shoulders. The two smaller boxes then extended a set of three one-meter-long gun-barrels. The massive sixteen-inch main cannons rotated on their place to secure their lock to the binders's clamps, before descending to his shoulders.

Finally, but also without warning, another device was launched just before the main exit of the launch bay, although this time, Iowa'd prepared himself for the contact, as the Battleship visibly braced himself for the impact. The device, however, only gently decelerated themselves before latching unto Iowa's left arm. Shocked to see that it didn't register another blow to his body, the metallic gadget _constructed_ itself all around Iowa's left hand. All the way from his five fingers, up to his elbow.

Looking somewhat bemused at the gauntlet he wore, Iowa rolled his eyes. "So, this must the reason why the meatbag asked for my hand coordination... _charming_."

"USS Iowa, can you read me?" McCrea's voice punched into the Battleship's Forward Bridge. "You're clear for the open seas. Keep course, and you'll be out of the docks soon enough."

Just as Iowa was about to reply to his handler, a sudden bright light cut him off before he even managed to speak. A light so bright, that the Warship Son was forced to shield his eyes from the rays with his gauntlet-covered hand, although, slowly, surely, and with hesitation, he dropped his fingers down. The ship's eyes were then met with the majestic sight of the New York City, with tall skyscrapers towering from the ground, dotting the landmarks of the city, along with the warmth radiating from the sun, already high up in the sky. Along with the view, Iowa also smelled the fresh aroma from the salty ocean waters he's gliding on, and the cool breeze that continued to grind against his face as he kept accelerating.

The date was the twenty-seventh of August.

"_Alright, boy, you're off the docks, head over to the main harbor, now. The crowd is already waiting for your ceremonial voyage. Oh... and if you can help it, can you please save that poor ol' Jimmy from drowning? He's about one-hundred and fifty meters to your East._"

* * *

**Happy Ship, The Diary of USS Iowa**

**A Kantai Collection Work of Fiction**

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Looks like my body is at least healthy enough to write a few more thousand words. Can't say the same about my head though. Still feeling dizzy and groggy. Like, seriously groggy.

Then again, I shouldn't have played Grand Theft Auto V for PC too much.

Welcome back, fellow readers, to my other one-shot-ish(?) story project, titled Happy Ship.

As you can see on this chapter, this one tells us about Iowa's launch day, 27th of August 1942. And you can also see the rest of the Iowa siblings in this one chapter, well, not every single one of them just yet, as USS Illinois was laid down at the 6th of December. I'm using the date the ships getting their hull laid down as their birthday, while their launch days, like Iowa's are merely for flashy factors. You will see some more of Iowa's interaction with his siblings in future chapters, but for now, I'm gonna keep it short. My body demands it.

And so... I used the launching/transformation sequence thingy from the anime. Where the ships step into the 'Assault' circle, to get the system do the rest for them. And this chapter also marks the debut of Captain McCrea, Iowa's official Captain when she was commissioned in 1943. Again, since this story is set on an alternate historical timeline, I would like to point out if the technological advancements are too great for its time, please just try to bear with it.

Again, I apologize if my writing degraded on this chapter. I'm exhausted as hell, and just going to bed as soon as I upload this chapter. Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed this one chapter.

Traesto.

* * *

"Oh my goodness, brother, what the hell happened to your face?!" Missouri shrieked in alarm as she saw a large lump right on Iowa's head, and the rest of the siblings followed suit with concern.

Iowa, walking through the door of the quarters, sighed warily. Pain visible though his face. "Tonight's dinner will be Yeung Chow fried rice... I shall be cooking," He evaded, bringing up a plastic bag filled with fresh ingredients.

_"I did not expect the First Lady to hit my face with a full, solid bottle of champagne..."_


End file.
